Not able to get out of bed because you are handcuffed to a 1200-pound Kodiak bear that has four tranquilizer darts in its neck and snores. Persistent thoughts of harming yourself by eating at Taco Bell. Little everyday things that used to bring you joy, like setting fire to your city and throwing bricks in policemen’s faces, now seem more like work than play. Pieces of darkness flake off of night’s canopy to settle on you slowly, gently, until you are covered in a uniform layer of black ash. You suddenly realize you are rooting for the administrative assistant in the Lifetime original movie you’re watching, the energetic young woman who wants to seduce the husband, kidnap the child and murder the wife. Even the voices in your head don’t want to talk to you anymore. When sleep finally comes there are no dreams, merely an announcer saying that that service is only available to Premium Subscribers. You find yourself pretending that every bill that drops through your mail slot is a letter from a dear friend threatening you with violence unless you repay the money you borrowed. Loss of appetite except for truffles; apparently even a very sad person can eat an entire box of those. A small bronze plate appears mysteriously on your bedroom door to declare that occupancy by more than one person is both unlawful and ludicrous.